


The First Day of my Life

by mangacrack



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, Humor, Maglor is a proud to be Feanorian, Modern Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-18
Updated: 2013-02-18
Packaged: 2017-11-29 18:54:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/690309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mangacrack/pseuds/mangacrack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Maglor is proud to be self confident enough to hold a grudge and refuse an offer in order to keep watching TV.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The First Day of my Life

**Author's Note:**

> This for all the depressing stories in which Maglor is denied to ever become happy again.

Maglor is laughing. 

He stands there and laughs, laughs and laughs. 

Every time when he has just managed to calm himself, he needs but a glance at the messenger to curl himself down into the ground. Panting for breath, Maglor takes his time until his incoherent syllables have turned into occasional giggles at least, before he addresses a sour faced Eönwë. 

„Ages of the world have passed and now the Valar have accumulated enough pity for the House of Fëanor to offer me amnesty?,” he asks amused and raises an eyebrow. 

His black hair lashes in the wind, unbounded but combed and well cared for. Tall the last son of Fëanor stands in front of the herald, when he raises he voice. 

“What exactly brought you to believe I desire a pardon? Given by gods, who had never enough compassion to comprehend with their narrowed minds, what forgiveness truly is?”

“This is your answer?,” Eönwë asks with a serene voice. 

For a moment Maglor holds his breath. 

Of course he remembers the pain, the tears and all the losses he suffered. To return to a land, which promises that no one has to die, is certainly alluring. But he is a son of Fëanor and knows better. 

Míriel died, Finwë died and ... _all my kin you doomed to death!_

“Yes, Herald of Manwë and Chief of the Maiar. This is my answer,” Maglor said, demising the offer. “I have lived in Endor since Arien rose into the sky and I will remain until Arda is remade.” 

Eönwë contemplates Maglor for an eternity, but the last of the Noldor merely smiles, pleased and confident. 

“I accept your decision,” the herald says. Finally he bows and adds quietly. “Prince Kanafinwë Makalaurë, son of Nerdanel and Fëanáro. Live long and peaceful.”

Maglor wonders if the last part is meant faithfully. Perhaps Eönwë’s personal opinion differs from the Valars, but is not enough to change his mind. 

Years upon years he had wallowed in self-pity, he wouldn’t allow himself to fall back into bad habits. Not after it took him so to regain his pride and self-confidence. 

“Good,” Maglor said and waved his hand, pointing to the door. “Now get hence. I have waited an entire season for the return of ‘Good Luck Charlie’ and I have no intention of missing a single episode.”

Eönwë obeys, covering his confusion about Maglor’s demand with a short nod and vanishes in thin air. 

Maglor sighs and returns to his couch and his cold beer, with every intention to take up where he left off before a tedious Maiar interrupted his evening. 

\- 

Eönwë’s return was eagerly anticipated and Námo rose from his seat, when the Maiar appeared before him. 

“Do you have his answer?,” the Doomsman of the Valar asked. 

“Indeed I have,” Eönwë answered. 

Námo demanded to know, his voice agitated: “And?”

“He refused.”

Silence filled the Hall of Mandos, before the Valar expressed his immense relief in a overjoyed shot. 

_“Fëanor,”_ Námo thundered. _“Take the six hell-spawns you call your sons and get lost!”_

A disembodied voice ascended from the dark depths of Mandos and cackled. 

_“I want you to be gone by the end of the week.”_

No answer came, but Námo felt his hackles rise. Shuddering he told himself that he wouldn’t miss the odd and familiar sensation he felt, every time Fëanor deigned to giggle beside his ears, low enough for only him to hear.

**Author's Note:**

> If Maglor lived long enough to reach the 4th Age and beyond … do you think it’s enough time for an elf to go through the five stages of grieve? Fact is that Maglor could have killed himself like Maedhros did. Since he refused to do so, I assume that he actually _wanted to live_ and with his father I image he couldn’t have accepted a ‘gracious’ pardon from the ‘oh so kind Valar’.
> 
> At least that’s my opinion … and the last part is a tribute to Námo’s and Fëanor’s messy relationship. As much as Námo seems to deserve it, I pity him for having to deal with a bored Fëanor for the rest of eternity. Because that’s just _mean!_
> 
> mangacrack  
> 


End file.
